


Lucifer Lost: What Milton Didn't Know

by GingerQuills



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-17 13:51:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15462819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerQuills/pseuds/GingerQuills
Summary: Long before the boys had ever known of monsters, and long after, there sat an archangel in a cage. He's done many things, not all of them good, and not all of them bad. When delivered some human poetry to amuse himself with, the devil finds himself awestruck by the eloquence and clarity. Challenged, for the first time, by a naked ape of all things. It simply couldn't be.Spoilers for a lot of Supernatural as a whole, in terms of both background lore and main story. You've been warned.





	Lucifer Lost: What Milton Didn't Know

I don't lie. I don't need to.

Fingers slowly drummed along the bars of the cage, wings dragging behind me, as I paced the interior of the final frontier. Pain shot out the moment my attention drifted to my body - to the very concept of a body - as a nervous system began to manifest alongside the essence of my being. Thoughts drifted in and out of the peculiarities of the physical universe, and my pain receded and reappeared accordingly. It was a curious phenomenon, pain; endlessly complex, and consequence-free for those who had the power to study from a distance. Perhaps that was what kept the apes so cyclically satisfied and dissatisfied with war and conflict. They wanted it, craved it beyond measure or description, but couldn't bear to admit it or escape the recurrent consequences of seeking out discord. Animals following their instincts. Automatons of flesh and bone.

Satan, Deceiver of Nations was not a title I liked. To be marked as 'adversary' seemed a juvenile practice; if nothing else, I am owed the choice of how I am referenced. A basic dignity for sentient beings. Opportunity to express the complexity of one's nature, instead of being relegated to a single given characteristic. Father wasn't always this petty about these sorts of symbolic victories, though perhaps due to lack of need, but it certainly surprised no one, least of all me, when my older brother took the charge in spreading the name far and wide. Still, 'Deceiver of Nations' was the worse of the two, precisely because it was accurate for the wrong reasons. A deception suits a purpose, as any entity with interests of any kind would know. My interests merely happen to be much larger than what the apes would consider conventionally appropriate - certainly larger than those nations, although the difference would not matter much to those opposing my efforts. For this distinction, I and the very act of being a deceiver are to be forever stained as a moral embodiment of some succubus? Can it truly be that I am the only one in history to have ever concealed or manipulated the truth for the sake of a goal? Or was it merely an argument of magnitude - that I had crossed an invisible line others of my ilk had not, binding me with an exceptionalism that justified infinitely greater distrust? Either way, it was a pointless conversation. The other angels had made it clear, when it came to me and mine, that they would stand with the apes they so obviously loathed. My angelic brothers and sisters were certainly more accomplished in hiding behind illusions of divinity and grace, but they too seemed like animals. Automatons of celestial intent.

Sounds of crackling manifested behind me, accompanied by the trademark booming thunder in the distance, and the urge to sigh crossed my mind while an esophagus formed around my essence. Visitors.

I approached the bars, letting my eyes drift over the fire surrounding the makeshift cage my presence had been summoned within. "Greetings, Dagon."

She curtsied, with a wide smile. It was both nauseating and flattering, somehow. "My Lord. Cain has killed Abel. He sits in his home, awaiting your judgment."

"Excellent," I breathed, truly meaning it for the first time in a very long time. Precedent for Father's Apocalypse was set. Brother had slaughtered a brother, and soon enough, brother would slaughter a brother again. "Take him to Hell. Begin the usual process of demonization, as I've shown you, but do not deplete his soul beyond what is necessary. Cain has multifaceted potential that must not be squandered."

"Yes, my Lord." Dagon seemed hardly able to contain her excitement. "What should I tell him about his brother?"

I raised my eyebrow. "The truth, Dagon. I have kept my end of our bargain. Abel ascends to Heaven as we speak."

"But surely, my Lord, if we allowed him to suffer further-"

She fell silent at the look on my face. "Sadism is counterproductive without a guiding hand. Like a rabid dog without a leash. Princes of Hell should know that. See that you do."

With a bow, she was gone. I began to pace again when I suddenly stopped short. Visitors, not visitor. There was a presence hiding near the flames. But who would hide from me? Who _could_ hide from me? No one would dare bring an ape this deep into the bowels of Hell, far away from the torture chambers. Only my Princes knew this place existed at all. Well, them, and-

Ah. "Gabriel, come out."

He stepped slowly into the light, his wings folding behind him. A feeling of relief flowed through me; even considering everything, it was good to see another archangel in this demonic wasteland. Without a word, Gabriel extended a glowing vial, and as I reached out to take it, I could feel the warmth radiating along my fingers. Angel grace. "Thank you, Gabriel."

He nodded, extending another object. Rectangular, and wrapped. "I went forward, to the 17th century this time. An English poet was writing about you. Thought you'd like it."

Taking the object gingerly, I could only frown in confusion. "Gabriel, I'm barely finished with what you brought me a week ago. Why'd you come back so soon?"

Gabriel's shoulders lifted and fell as he breathed, looking at me. "Because this is the last time I'm doing this for you, Lucifer. I wasn't sure I wanted to come back at all."

I clutched the bars of the cage, nearly dropping the new package. "Why?"

"I'll send someone else to cover our usual arrangement from now on. Metatron, maybe. His collection of literature is vast. Or Uriel; he's been asking to meet you."

"Gabriel, what's wrong? Why are you doing this?"

He stared at me, a hint of bewilderment mixed with resignation. "I'm leaving, Luci. For good."

"You-"

Holding up his hand, he started to pace. "Don't speak. Just let me say this." Gabriel sighed deeply this time, as if it were hurting his lungs to do so. "I never took sides when you had your argument with Dad. I don't think you should've said what you said, and I don't think he should've left, and I wish the whole thing hadn't been so damned public, but it hardly matters. He's gone, and soon enough, Michael and Raphael are going to realize that he's not coming back. They'll grasp onto any semblance of purpose they can, and that means all of Heaven is going to be involving itself in things it shouldn't. Human affairs, the direction of the cosmos, and eventually, the Apocalypse."

"So you're just going to abandon us? Abandon me?" I asked, taken aback.

He threw up his hands. "I can't do this any more, Luci. You're never going to change, and neither are they. You'll tear each other apart eventually; it's only a matter of time. And I can't watch you do it. I certainly can't watch you consorting with and creating demons, the lowest filth of all, plotting to kill our family someday. I'm done with it."

I was silent, fury pounding in my chest. Gabriel looked like he was about to extend a hand when suddenly, I couldn't take it any more. "So you just think I'm a brat, do you? You still think Dad was right to throw me away, just for disagreeing with him?!"

"I said I wasn't taking sides-"

"If you don't support me, brother, then you  _are_ taking a side!" I exclaimed, throwing the package down and slamming my hands on the bars. "I am trapped in here, and will be trapped for the rest of **eternity** if you don't help me. To plead neutrality in the face of injustice is to support the oppressor, you self-righteous cunt!"

The look on his face was something I never wanted to see again. Pity, mixed with mockery and disgust. "Goodbye, Lucifer."

For a long time, longer than any of my servants would have deemed appropriate, I pounded on those bars, screaming his name over and over. Minutes passed, then hours, quite a while after the flames had extinguished and I had been transported back to my real cage in that void of darkness and lightning. Pride may have reared its head several times, as I took some moments to sit in quiet before a particularly loud crack of thunder behind me would invigorate me again, bringing me to my feet so I could start yelling again. Being an archangel prevented my throat from tiring, or my determination from waning, but even my pride eventually had to give way to reason. He was coming back, but not today. He'd realize his mistake, but he cared about doing the right thing, so he needed time to himself, to think it all through. I could give him that. And as I drank the vial of grace he'd brought, rejuvenating my strength and focus, my assurance in that conclusion felt more and more cemented in fact. He was coming back; no question about it.

With a weary glance, I stared at the rumpled package. The paper began to crumple itself into a ball at my command and promptly flew to the other end of the cage, leaving behind a mildly tattered red book. The material was rough as it slid into my fingers, yet well-crafted all the same. Seems at least one ape was capable of halfway decent craftsmanship. Chuckling at the odds of that, and my ability to admit it without revulsion, I carefully opened the cover to the first few pages.

_PARADISE LOST._

_Book I._

_Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit_  
_Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste_  
_Brought death into the world, and all our woe,_  
_With loss of Eden, till one greater man_  
_Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,_  
_Sing, Heavenly Muse!_

The book shut immediately and flew across the cage, with a loud ripping that echoed into the surrounding darkness. The force of my throw must have torn some of the pages, part of my mind mused, as the rest of it snorted in derision. Was Gabriel joking? I looked around in bemusement, half expecting to see him flying over to explain this elaborate prank. The thundering around me matched my laughter as I stared at the red book, on the other corner of the cage. Was I expected to believe that Gabriel, the only angel left in Heaven with something even  _approaching_ a decent sense of humor, had flown thousands of years into the future to get me yet another insipid diatribe on how it was all my fault that Adam and Eve couldn't resist the fruit? Or was it all he could find in whatever decrepit choices for literature existed in this 17th century of his?

Either way, he should have known better. Adam and Eve, always Adam and Eve, as if it were the greatest tragedy in all the world. _Frankenstein,_ my abandoned reading material of this morning, flew into my hands as I pondered how much clearer-headed the 19th century apes must have been to write it. Two hundred years was apparently enough to get them to stop complaining about me. This Creature character, buffoon though he was and ape though he ultimately remained, was far more sympathetic in my eyes. Created by an irresponsible, overly curious scientist named Victor Frankenstein adopting the role of a father figure, and taking on the role of misunderstood son of the world. Turning over a page, I was finishing the section of the book where the Creature speaks with his creator, promising to murder Victor's entire family if he does not create a female companion for him, arguing that he has a right to life and happiness the same as any other ape. Dark way to finish a second act, I supposed, viewing Mary Shelley with a bit of an increased respect in my mind, but it seemed righteous enough all the same. Why create a creature with such desires in the first place, if one is determined to then bray about the immorality of what that creature wants, and what it will do to get what it wants?

But God was not like Victor, I decided, shutting the story and trying not to look at the red book in the corner. Victor at least cared about his Creature, flawed though such ape love may be. He had clear limitations to what he could do and think that allowed sympathy for and closure in an imperfect approach. All my father had ever done was reject responsibility - for the welfare of angels, for the immutable desires upon which I acted, for his own choices, and most of all, the inherent moral and literal stink of his beloved apes. He didn't even have the decency to stick around for all the thousands who mourned and prayed to him in Heaven, and for his only son trapped in the deepest darkness imaginable, there was no divine solace to be found. No mercy or consideration, from the one purported source of all that was good in the universe. 

The red book flew back into my hands as I tossed  _Frankenstein_ away, albeit the action was deliberately slower for both this time. What right did this John Milton have to criticize me, I wondered, squinting at the name on the first page. What right did God have, for that matter? Both seemed like disinterested parties in my affairs - merely pointing and laughing like schoolchildren, at a flaw of their environment they had no intention to fix. Was there a point, or indeed a justification, for criticism that served no purpose? Availed no harm? Helped no one? I squinted at the title again. 'Paradise Lost', indeed. I was going to lose my mind in here, with only these books for company. Paradise had been lost a long time ago, though there was no way for an ape to know that for certain.

Then again, it was a good title for what had occurred. At least, from the perspective of an ape, who would be embodied as those accursed sinners, Adam and Eve. Paradise had indeed been lost - forfeited, and then stolen. From me, and I supposed, from them too. Flipping back to the page, I started to read into Book I again.

 _Sing, Heavenly Muse! That, on the secret top_  
_Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire_  
_That Shepherd who first taught the chosen seed_  
_In the beginning how the heavens and earth_  
_Rose out of Chaos: or, if Sion hill_  
_Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed_  
_Fast by the oracle of God, I thence_  
_Invoke thy aid to my adventrous song,_  
_That with no middle flight intends to soar_  
_Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues_  
_Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme._

My breath was catching in my throat. I  **knew** these names. Out of the pile of discarded literature by my side flew out a very old book - the Old Testament, yet to be written. The quality of ape literature written in the present moment had always been mediocre, owing in no small part to their scarcity ridden existence, so Gabriel had always done the favor of travelling forward in time for my entertainment instead. He roundly refused to give me anything from the 21st or 20th centuries, presumably to avoid a spanking from Michael for giving me cultural information on the era when the Apocalypse was going to occur. But virtually anything else was fair game. Even the Bible was fine, since much of it - including that apocalyptic Book of Revelation - was wrong anyway.

Leafing quickly through the second book of the Old Testament, Exodus, I stopped my finger as I reached that pivotal page. The moment when Moses will speak to God following the emancipation of Jewish apes, atop Mount Sinai. But I had skimmed through the later fifth book, Deuteronomy, mere days ago. It described the same events occurring atop a Mount Horeb instead. Surely, if an ape had been on two separate mountains for the exact same extended period of time, all while holding counsel with God, such a miracle would definitely have featured prominently in this collection of scribbles. For the discrepancy to not be mentioned at all meant that they were simply two names for the same mountain. And if not, if some important part of the story occurring on one of the mountains had simply been left out for whatever reason, it was at least **probable** that the author of this book was of a denomination that believed the two mountains to be the same.

I shook my head in moderate wonder, almost seeing the words in a new light. That would make this mentioned shepherd Moses, the 'chosen seed' the Jews, and this entire message some sort of love letter of wisdom and celebration of wisdom passing between prophets and chosen apes. The section before, and the rest of this one, were both circling back to Adam and Eve, to the creation of everything. Even comparing that vast and magnificent creation to the puny construction of what I supposed apes would consider grand cities - Zion, or 'Sion hill', for instance - as a way to connect thinkers of many denominations and divine beings of many persuasions to a single line of questioning.

Was this what Paradise Lost was, then? An ape's plea to understand events outside their pitiably insignificant purview? And if Gabriel was gone for the moment, would I entertain this plea? Barely realizing it, I had manifested legs around my essence and began to sit cross-legged. On impulse, and out of sheer amusement, I even wiggled my toes as I lifted up the red book and began to reread with something approaching earnest.

I don't lie. I don't need to. But for the sake of this ape's curiosity, and my own, I don't feel that I want to.


End file.
